Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 88 - 90

Chapter 88: Chapter 90

Avara POV

"Is there a reason you’re waking me up at the crack of dawn?" I mutter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Simon crouches, pulling a stainless steel case from a hidden compartment. With practiced ease, he flips open the latches, revealing an assortment of specialized gadgets—tiny, intricate devices I don’t even have names for.

"Alright, 007," I say, raising an eyebrow. "What’s all this?"

"Listening devices, signal jammers, and a few defensive tools that might come in handy. And I’m going to teach you how to use them."

"Spycraft for dummies?"

His lips quirk in amusement, and he tosses me a quick glance before returning to his work. My eyes drop to the unmistakable shape of a gun tucked into his waistband. I can’t stop staring, and when his gaze follows mine, the realization hits him. With a casual tug, he pulls the hem of his shirt down to cover the weapon.

"Can’t be too careful," he says lightly, though the weight of his tone suggests otherwise.

I shift uncomfortably. "That’s probably something I should learn how to use too."

His eyes flick to mine, filled with more concern than curiosity. "You sure? You don’t look sure."

"I never thought I’d need to, but things are... different now. I might not have a choice."

Simon’s jaw tightens as he draws the gun from his waistband. He holds it out to me, and I hesitate before taking it.

"It’s one thing to know how to handle it," he says firmly. "But you won’t need to use it."

I glance up, catching my faint reflection in the caravan’s window, a shadow of the person I thought I was. "I used to think I was safe, that I could tell the difference between family and my foes. That there was a line I myself would never have to cross." I raise the gun, aiming it at my half-faded reflection in the window in the caravan. My voice hardens. "I was wrong."

Simon snatches the gun from my hand, pointing it toward the case. "First, we learn," he says, his tone giving no ground for an argument. He flutters the gun for emphasis. "Then, we do. I can’t make you a marksman in like two days—"

"I don’t need to be," I cut in, my voice sharper than intended. "Just teach me to be the first one to fire the shot."

Simon studies me, his expression unreadable, as though he’s seeing someone entirely different. I look back at him almost jadedly. His gaze lingers for a beat too long before he finally nods.

"Let’s get started."

***

The makeshift shooting range is tucked deep in the woods. Glass beer bottles are perched precariously on an old, weathered log, their reflective surfaces catching fleeting glints of sunlight that filtered through the dense canopy above.

Simon stands beside me, his stance grounded and commanding. He tilts his head toward the bottles. In my hand is a standard glock, the black polymer weapon sleek and lethal.

My fingers feel clumsy as I grip the gun. Simon steps behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his presence, he corrects my grip before his hands gently adjust my stance.

"Feet shoulder-width apart," he instructs, his tone patient but firm. "Lean forward slightly, elbows soft but controlled."

I exhale shakily and raised the gun, aligning the sights with one of the bottles. My pulse thunders in my ears, a drumbeat of adrenaline.

"So when do I–"

He flinches at me and I scream—the shot rang out, sharp and deafening in the stillness, sending a shockwave through my arms. I missed, ridiculously, the bullet kicking up dirt near the log. Simon reaches around, his hands guiding mine, his voice right by my ear.

"Too slow. Again."

I adjust my grip, my determination hardening with each breath. It takes several rounds until I pull the trigger, and the glass bottle shatters into a million sparkling shards, scattering like fireflies in the dappled light.

Simon gives a small, approving nod. "Better. Now faster."

The log is littered with shards of glass. But still, more rounds ensue. Simon even shows me how to reload the magazine and he puts up new targets as I do. With just two remaining props perched, I take a step and take aim with a single arm outstretched in inflated confidence. Shortly, my target is blotted out by Simon’s frame when he slinks into view, standing directly in my line of fire.

"New target," he announces.

I drop my arm and his arm whips up to stab a damning finger in my direction.

"You keep that gun where it’s meant to be." He points at his chest—center mass. "Right here."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"All the speed and skill in the world won’t help you, if you don’t have the nerve to shoot first," he educates. "If the time comes. Will you actually be able to pull the trigger?"

He takes a menacing step towards me, shoulders squaring like he’s bracing for an attack.

"Stop," I say whilst retreating a few steps.

"You’re hesitating... Do you think anyone on the other side of that barrel will hesitate? You hesitate, you’re dead."

"You sound just like him," I hiss back.

"Like who?"

My arm swings up and I point the barrel at his forehead. "I said stop!"

He rushes at me a charging bull—when he’s close enough, he’s forced to a grinding halt and a cold jolt arrows through me as he seizes my wrist, moving the tip away from his face.

"Dead."

My eyes clamp shut for a hot moment as he takes the gun out of my hand.

"The mag is empty—isn’t? That’s why you charged a loaded gun like a psychopath."

Without breaking eye contact, his arm flashes behind him and with a deafening thunderclap—the single shot shatters the second last bottle with pristine precision.

"I charged a live weapon because I knew you’d never pull the trigger," he says with this cold certainty, not to belittle me but inform me. "And that’s most people’s problem, but your circumstances aren’t like most people. Sometimes to defend yourself, you will have to hurt someone else, and I’m not just talking physically. And this will be harder for people like you to learn—people with gentle natures."

"I’m not as weak as I look."

"You are—and that’s a good thing," he says quickly, clasping a firm hand on my shoulder. "Look Avara, in a fight going strength to strength—you will lose. You’re not going to beat anyone by being stronger, but you can beat everyone by being smarter. And that comes with being patient, observant, and knowing when to pull the trigger or put it down. The greatest battles can be won without a fight if you’re clever enough."

I nod evenly. "Though I appreciate the art of war type wisdom, sensei. We’ve been out here all day."

He chaffs and glances back at him with a glimmer of amusement. "You wanted to learn."

"I don’t have to starve to do so."

He nods in a way that validates my point. "I’ll tell you what," he says, his hand slipping into his pocket to pluck out a knot-size black device. "If you can plant this on me—without me realising. We can go grab some dinner, there’s a diner not too far from here. If that’s okay with you, I know you only eat at places with five star michelin chefs."

"Ouch," I say flatly. "Contrary to your belief, I’m not a bougie brat."

"That was never my perspective of you."

He tosses the device, my eyes dart to it as it arcs over and I catch it clumsily, nearly letting it slip.

"How can I plant something if you are already aware?"

"Many men are aware," he cautions as he beckons me to him with a flutter of two fingers. "Besides, that’s not what I will be examining."

My eyes lower as I ball my hands together to conceal the device as I shift it between the right and left as I ponder on my approach to plant it on him. Slowly, I meander towards him as his eyes track every movement no matter how idle.

"This is a lot of pressure," I say lightly.

"Imagine doing it for real."

"It feels real to me—I mean you’re causing me some serious anxiety by watching me like a hawk and—"

I drop right in front of him, faking a fall and exploiting a protective impulse as he latches onto me before my knees can reach the forest floor.

"You think I’d buy that? You live your life under the public eye."

I allow him to hoist me to full height. My eyes trace a languid line down to his pants as I hook a finger around the belt loop to tug him closer. His brows crash incredulously, staring back at me challengingly, more affronted then aroused by the risque action as if he sees right through my bold ploy.

"Maybe being watched by your eyes makes me—" my finger slips out and in to tease the inner lining of his pants, "— nervous."

My eyes flick up to grab his gaze as my fingers skim over to his front pocket, sliding inside as I coil my other arm around him, bringing myself flush against him as he looks down at me. His expression yields to a less hostile look, a curious glint in his eyes as intrigue carves into his features. His too-self-satisfied smirk shatters the moment as fast and fatal as the gunshot as he seizes me by the shoulders to rift us apart.

"If your tactic is to use seduction. You’re going to need a lot more work."

I step away, retreating, looking up at him through my eyelashes piercingly. With casual confidence, he reaches into the front pocket I was subtly fiddling with, only to come out empty. He pats himself down, digging in both front pockets as his eyes pin me with a shocked stare. I brandish my empty hands with a victorious smile.

"Seduction was the distraction," I educate.